


if lost please return to iron man

by KiwisAndTea



Series: t-shirts [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Clint is suspicious, Fluff, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, and always find his way home, he just wants his kid to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwisAndTea/pseuds/KiwisAndTea
Summary: It happened like this:Peter took one look at his shirt and laughed until there were tears spilling out of his eyes, and Tony was not about to let him get away with it.-Part 2 of the t-shirt series, but it is not necessary to read the other one first.





	if lost please return to iron man

**Author's Note:**

> I've been holding onto this idea for so long, guys. I had it before I ever saw fanart of it, which only spurred me on, because it's so cute. Tony is going to use and abuse it as much as he can, and Peter is going to pretend he hates it even though it makes him happy.
> 
> Can be seen as a continuation of Part 1 or something completely separate, it's up to you.

It happened like this:

Peter took one look at his shirt and laughed until there were tears spilling out of his eyes, and Tony was not about to let him get away with it.

Well, that was the short version, anyway.

Rhodey had gotten him the 'I am Iron Man' t-shirt as a gag gift shortly after _The_ press conference, but joke's on him because Tony absolutely loves it. It's one of his favorite shirts, even though the bright red is beginning to fade and the collar is getting stretched out from almost a decade of use.

Peter, bless him, doesn't notice it right away. He zips into the lab, launching immediately into a story about his physics class and head first into suit repairs, ever the diligent student. It's another forty minutes of Peter's silly impressions of other students and the teacher before he looks up long enough to see the shirt, process its meaning, and burst into hysterics.

"I can't believe you're wearing your own merch," he says when he finally gathers enough of his breath back to speak. "Well, I totally can, that's so you, but I _can't_. That's amazing, Mr. Stark. Ohmygod."

All Tony can do is blink in confusion and try not to let the stupidly cute kid with the contagious laugh get to him. He has a reputation to uphold, but it's incredibly difficult not to glow with affection at a sound of such unbridled joy.

The idea itself doesn't come to him until he invites Peter along on a small mission in Jersey the following week. It's nothing big - the guy, Volto or Voltatron or something stupid like that, is more of a nuisance than a danger with his laser gun that might cause a second degree burn at best. His only positive villainous trait is his unnatural speed, and perhaps he's a bit slippery, because Tony and Peter find themselves chasing him across several blocks.

Naturally, the kid gets lost mid-battle.

So, while Iron Man attempts to corner their target and incapacitate him, he listens to Spider-Man ask the locals for directions towards a fight that is constantly moving. (Dolt-o slips into a narrow alleyway and Tony swears on his life that he will never take a small mission that is not on his home turf because the damn guy keeps disappearing into one shady location and appearing from another two blocks away). It's while he's flying over the buildings trying to catch sight of their bad guy that he hears Peter grow frustrated with their unhelpful directions and shout, "take me to Iron Man!"

(Tony decides not to tell him that his AI is more than capable of leading him back, with a map and a more accurate location to boot. He's never dealt with such a boring, humorless, and irritating Baddy before, and he could use the entertainment).

About five minutes later, Spider-Man webs the man to a wall as he rounds a corner out of another one of his short-cuts through the city.

He lands beside the teen a moment later, tells FRIDAY to alert the cops, and elbows the hero good-naturedly. "Am I going to have to put a leash on you?" he asks, grin clear as day in his voice, but he's already got a better idea.

"It's not my fault Jersey streets make no sense! They're stupid."

"Okay, kid. Blame the city planners."

Peter throws his hands up, and Tony tosses an arm over his shoulders before he can storm off with that particular brand of teenage attitude that he used to find annoying, but now it's kind of endearing, and leads him away from the scene. The sooner they get home, the less likely Aunt Hottie is to skin him alive for keeping her nephew past curfew when he's got school tomorrow. Plus, there's a little something he'd like to get done tonight.

* * *

Peter is… suspicious, to say the least, when Tony hands him a plain rectangular box. He understands why - it's well passed the holidays now, and nowhere near his birthday. The kid has trouble taking food from him, let alone gifts on random Thursday afternoons, but with some coaxing he finally opens it.

"No way!" The t-shirt he pulls out is an obvious tribute to his 'I am Iron Man' shirt, a similar faded red, same font, same cartoon-ish picture of his helmet in the center. Except this one says 'If lost please return to Iron Man.' "No way," he repeats, significantly more downtrodden.

Tony laughs.

"I'm not five, Mr. Stark."

The petulant, pouting lip says otherwise, but the billionaire sobers enough to say, "No, no, of course not. You're a smart boy. Seven, at least." When the teen's shoulders slump, his mask cracks and he smiles again. "Come on, are you saying you don't want to match me?"

He gets a rather sorry excuse for a glare for his efforts. "That's not fair. I know you have ulterior motives."

"Me?" Tony asks, feigning shock.

Finally, Peter smiles. "Thanks, Mr. Stark."

"No problem, kid."

 

 

**i.**

"Alright, now act like you like each other."

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter can see Mr. Stark stick his tongue out at Ms. Potts, but he knows better than to disobey, and slings an arm over Peter's shoulders with ease.

In return, she hums her displeasure with his childishness and counts down before snapping their photo. "Be good," she tells them, handing the phone back to her fiancée, "and have fun."

Peter waits until they're in the car headed towards the engineering conference in Connecticut to voice his opinion, running nimble fingers over the lettering on his shirt, "I don't see why we couldn't just wear normal dress shirts. Aren't t-shirts a little casual for this type of thing?" Which is, of course, only part of the problem. The bigger part is that it's totally embarrassing and he's frankly appalled that Mr. Stark doesn't find it that way.

"Maybe," he replies without taking his eyes off the road, bleeding indifference, as if his reputation either doesn't matter or won't be tarnished by their matching shirts. "But there's going to be a lot of big-wigs there. I've got to mark my territory."

His nose wrinkles at both the analogy and the implication.

"Besides, what if you get lost again?"

"That was _one time_ ," he groans.

Famous last words, Peter would say. No way he's living this one down, either.

The convention center is huge. Like, enormous. There's probably a couple thousand people in the presentation room now that the lectures have ended, milling around and investigating all the companies and projects set up at booths throughout the grand hall. Mr. Stark had sent him off over an hour ago to do some networking and to scope out anything good (especially anything too good that they might want to keep their eye on), but all four walls are the same high-vaulted and wood-paneled indistinguishable boundary. He feels like he's done a full circuit, but none of the booths near him look familiar and he no longer has any clue which way is up or down, let alone where the Stark Industries table is anymore. With this many people, there's no telling what is more than five or six feet around him, and Peter's mounting panic must register on his face because one of the security guards approaches him.

"Looking for something in particular?" he asks, and Peter whips around in surprise. "Or maybe someone. Need me to lead you back to Mr. Stark?"

Jaw hanging open, he almost asks how the man knows, but then he remembers what shirt he's wearing and snaps it shut with a huff and a nod and a begrudging but silent admission that it might have been a tiny little bit of a good idea. Peter Parker isn't exactly brave enough for ask for help from a stranger, especially with a crowd pressing in on him and sending his senses into overdrive. The security guard - Herrera, according to his badge - bids him follow and then sets off on a winding trail through the hall to what is certainly the opposite side of the room. Mr. Stark is chatting with a group of four or five people, obviously all business, and oblivious to their arrival.

"Hey, Stark. Lose something?"

Peter shoots Herrera a look of betrayal and tries not to fidget when his mentor suddenly turns all of his attention towards him. "Hey kid, perfect timing. Care to help me demonstrate some of the stuff we've been working on?"

While he's thankful for the distraction, he absolutely does not miss the billionaire's smug smile. They don't talk about it, not after his audience leaves, not after they pack up, not even on the drive home, but Peter can feel that Tony Stark's ego has grown because of what happened. It's visceral.

 

 

**ii.**

As soon as they pull up to the Compound, Happy practically boots him out of the car, muttering about the dozen other things he is apparently tasked with today. Peter doesn't mind; he's been here often enough that he knows his way around now, and he's got a thicker skin on lab days. It would take a lot more than Happy being extra dismissive (like Flash finding a particularly sore spot in all of his traumas to exploit) to curb his enthusiasm when he's about to spend time in Tony Stark's personal lab.

Adjusting the straps of his backpack on his shoulders, Peter makes for the front door. About ten steps away from it, a body falls from the sky and lands gracefully between him and his destination, scaring the ever-loving crap out of him. Luckily his sixth sense hadn't gone off, or his reaction would have been much more confrontational than the two-foot vertical leap he does.

Even in jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Hawkeye is immediately recognizable.

"This ain't public property, kid."

It's a little hard to hear him over the pounding of his heart in his ears, but with a couple of seconds of tense silence, Peter stammers out an, "I-I know."

He's not scared of the spy with impeccable aim, he's just… unprepared. Mr. Barton has a keen eye on him, and he doesn't dare break his gaze.

"Who are you?" the hero asks, eyes narrowing and beginning a thorough investigation of the boy in front of him, no doubt charting weaknesses and sizing him up in case a struggle ensues. It's brief but violating, and Peter flinches when Mr. Barton whips his cellphone out of his pocket, hits maybe two buttons, and puts it to his ear. He locks eyes with him again and waits. "I think I found something of yours," he says into the receiver, pauses for an answer, and then replies, "A kid."

Peter's sensitive hearing picks up a sharp " _what?_ " before he realizes he could be listening to both sides of this conversation instead of panicking in front of one of his heroes.

"Average height, brown hair, Bambi eyes, wearing an 'If lost please return to Iron Man' t-shirt." The last bit is said with amusement, although the man's face belies nothing.

Damn shirt is going to be the death of him.

" _Don't touch him_ ," Mr. Stark barks down the line, " _I'll be there in a minute_."

"Dude, you seriously think I'm going to hurt a kid?"

 _Not a kid_ , he wants to say, but he's learned to pick his battles. The Avengers don't really strike him as the losing types, or even the compromising types. Better to let it go, at least for now. Despite his thorough knowledge of all of the Avengers, he doesn't _really_ know the guy, and if he hasn't won that battle with Mr. Stark yet, there's no chance he'll win this one.

The call ends before he even finishes his sentence, but he just shrugs it off like it's nothing new, slips the phone back into his pocket, and returns his full attention to the teen. "What's your name, kid?"

Shoulders slumping in defeat, he answers on a sigh, "Peter."

"Why've you got Tony's panties in a twist? The only time I've ever heard that tone of voice is when I try to drink his fancy coffee."

Against his will, he cracks a smile. Yeah, that sounds like Mr. Stark. "Oh, I don't-"

"Hey kid. Beat it, Barton."

"Rude," Hawkeye states as the billionaire comes around to greet Peter. "Who is this guy, anyway?"

Naturally, he gets ignored. Mr. Stark stops in front of him, blocking his view of the archer and looking moderately frazzled. "Where's Happy?"

Peter glances over his mentor's shoulder uncertainly, but then Mr. Stark shifts back into his view and the center of his attention. "He… had errands? Or something? I don't know, he just dropped me off. It's okay though, because I know how to get to the lab! I don't need an escort."

The look on the older man's face is slightly pinched in a way that tells Peter that he isn't happy but unwilling to dwell on it. Instead, he throws an arm around the boy's shoulders and a pointed look at the archer still standing there awaiting answers. "This place is teeming with nosy assholes who can't mind their own damn business. The escort is as much for you as it is for me." He steers Peter into the building, ignoring Mr. Barton and his really reasonable defense altogether. "But hey, I told you that shirt would be worth it."

"Ugh," Peter groans, letting his shoulders fall again and dragging his feet just enough to prove how put-out he is. "I'm never wearing this thing again. It just gets me into trouble."

"No, it gets you _out_ of trouble. You should wear it everyday."

Mr. Barton slides smoothly to a stop in front of the elevators, arms crossed over his chest and glancing between them suspiciously. Peter tries not to jump in surprise (and fails, because Mr. Stark knowingly tightens his hold on him). If he's going to be coming here more when the other Avengers are around, he's going to have to either expect them to pop out of nowhere or work on his Avengers-radar.

"What the hell, man?"

Mr. Stark is a rock. "Move, Barton."

Mr. Barton is also a rock. "You know, the more you avoid it, the more suspicious it looks."

Peter fears they may be standing here at a stalemate until he has to go home. He opens his mouth to explain, but before he can even make a sound, a calloused hand is pushing his jaw closed.

"Today's lesson: do not bend to the will of the enemy," Mr. Stark instructs.

"But-"

"Ah."

"I co-"

"No."

Peter sighs.

In the end, they stand there in silence for twelve minutes and twenty-six seconds before Mr. Barton lets his arms fall to his sides and says, "Fine, we'll do this the fun way," with a smile that makes Peter nervous. The only comfort he gets is in the fact that Mr. Stark doesn't look bothered at all. As they make their way to the workshop, he vows to never wear this shirt again.

 

 

**iii.**

Tony's in the lab when he gets the first call. And the second. FRIDAY doesn't even bother letting it ring the third time, and instead informs him, "Mount Sinai Hospital has called you three times in the last ten minutes."

A glance at the nearest clock calms the instinctual panic that rises at the information. It isn't even two o'clock yet. Pepper is in a meeting, Rhodey isn't even in the state, Peter is at school, Happy - last he checked - is watching Project Runway in the common room. If it were May, she'd be calling from her own hospital. Whoever they want, it isn't him. All his people are accounted for.

When the fourth call comes through, he figures they won't stop until they know they've gotten the wrong number. He has FRIDAY answer for him as he rolls his stool over to another table for a spare part. "Tony Stark," he greets, sifting through the mess until he finds the conductor he'd been looking for and rolls back to his project.

"Mr. Stark," a woman replies, but she doesn't sound as surprised as he is expecting. In fact, she doesn't sound surprised at all. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but I'm calling from Mount Sinai Queens. We have a patient here, a John Doe, that was brought in earlier this morning. We've been waiting to see if he wakes up, but it has been several hours now and we still do not have an ID. I know it is a longshot, but I was hoping you might know him."

"Why would I know a John Doe in your hospital?" he asks, holding the screwdriver between his teeth so that he can use both hands to adjust the parts of the bot in front of him.

"Well, the only hope we have of identifying him is an 'If lost please return to Iron Man' shirt." The screwdriver drops, rolls off the table, and narrowly misses his foot. "I understand that that does not necessarily implicate that-"

"Is he alright?"

Tony stands, caught between the elevator to the garage and the wall of suits opposite it. In the woman's moment of silence (oh, _now_ she's surprised), his heart flutters, picks up pace, and he feels like he's drowning because she isn't answering and Peter's been unconscious at a hospital for hours. It's Wednesday. He should be at school. He shouldn't be unconscious. He should be at school, taking his math test, regretting the cafeteria's mystery meat.

"Do you know him?" she asks after far, far too long of a silence.

Fuck it. Suit is faster.

"Yes. Is he alright? What happened?" Why hasn't he woken up? Why has it been hours?

"Can you tell me his name? If we can look up his medical records, we might be able to-"

"No," he snaps, perhaps too harshly, but he doesn't care. Peter's in the hospital - _Peter_ , oh god, it's Peter, not Spider-Man. Tony can deal with superhero problems, but somehow it is so much more frightening when it's the kid beneath the mask. "No. Don't touch him, I'll be there in five minutes, just don't touch him. Tell me what happened."

If his outburst has angered her, she doesn't let it show in the calmness of her voice. "Are you his guardian?"

Unfortunately for her, he does not have the patience for her games. "I'm an emergency contact. I'll call his guardian as soon as you tell me what the fuck is going on," he tells her, taking a breath as he slips into a suit and  out of the building.

"We are not entirely sure. NYPD brought him in around 8:30 this morning after they got a tip about a mugging at Madison and 64th. The one witness that stuck around long enough for them to arrive said that he tried to intervene and took a hit to the head. He has a severe concussion, but we will not know the extent of the damage - if there is any - until he wakes up."

Unwilling to dwell on any part of that explanation, Tony grounds out a 'thank you,' hangs up, and has FRIDAY call May. When her phone goes straight to voicemail, he understands why Peter has been left alone for so long; Midtown High probably called her, too, to tell her he'd missed class. "Hey May, your kid's a fucking idiot who is going to send me to an early grave. Apparently he tried stopping a purse-snatcher as a civilian this morning and if the concussion doesn't kill him, I will. Mount Sinai doesn't seem too concerned with his condition, but I'll call you again when I get a look at him myself. Try not to worry, and call Happy when you're ready to go. I'm going to have him transferred to the Compound as soon as possible."

It takes far too long for him to wind his way through the unfamiliar hospital and weasel the directions to his room out of a handful of unimpressed hospital staff who think they can stand in his way because he isn't legally Peter's anything.

(That'll be changing _real_ soon, he'll make sure of it).

Peter is still unconscious when he arrives, and despite the sterile white room, it calms him to see the kid in one piece and, for once, sleeping. There's a police officer slumped in the chair by the bed, playing games on his phone until Tony plows into the room on a mission. The officer stands, gaping dumbly while he rushes to Peter's bedside. His shaking hands touch soft, warm cheeks and then slide easily into messy brown curls; he can feel the bump, and it must have been a hell of a hit if it's still here after however many hours its been, and the kid's still conked out from it.

"Oh, Pete," Tony whispers beneath the officer's shocked, "Mr. Stark!"

"You can't be in here," the man goes on, although he sounds far less confident than he needs to be to go head-to-head with Tony Stark at this very moment. Tony is going to eat him alive. "Unless you're family."

 _I am_ his heart shouts, but the words don't reach his mouth.

(Real, _real_ soon. After he calls May again, he's calling Pepper to sick her on his lawyers until they work up a way to make it so shit like this doesn't happen).

He clenches his jaw and focuses on untangling Peter's hair because it calms the flame burning in his chest, the one begging him to punch of cop for insolence. "His legal guardian is currently indisposed. Be a dear and grab his doctor for me, won't you?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to-"

"Think very carefully about what you are about to say because I am _this close_ ," he interrupts, turning to the officer and lifting his hand with his thumb and forefinger touching to prove his point, "to losing my shit."

"Shh. 'M sleepin'."

Tony's head whips back to the boy whose face is now pinched adorably and he just about swallows his tongue. "Pete?"

All he gets in response is a groan and some wiggling around in the bed. When Tony removes his hands, thinking he'd aggravated the bump, he gets a half groan, half whine that immediately returns them to their gentle motions.

"Peter? You with me?"

"My head hurts."

Releasing a relieved, breathless laugh, Tony sits on the edge of his bed and tries to rub some of the pain away from his temple with his thumb. "Well, yeah, that's what happens when some low-life knocks you in the head."

Peter scrunches his face up again before finally cracking open an eye to look at him. "Aw. Did he get away?"

"You're killing me, kid."

A quirk of the lips belies his whispered "sorry."

The police officer clears his throat and Peter's head lolls in his direction.

"Uh oh. Am I in trouble?"

Tony pats the boy's shoulder. "Not with the cops, Pete. But you and me are going to have a talk later. And May, I'm sure she has a lot to say about what happened."

His other eye opens quickly and they both widen at him before turning pleadingly towards the officer. "Please arrest me."

**Author's Note:**

> I'd have made it a 5 +1 if I had other ideas. That being said, if anyone has another idea for Peter's shirt, let me know. I'm not opposed to adding scenes/chapters to this one.
> 
> And if anyone has ideas for _other_ shirts/shirt-related situations, let me know! I've got three more after this, and then I'm all out of ideas for the time being. Hmu here or on Tumblr (same name) with prompts and to tell me what you think.


End file.
